


Bag

by vtn



Category: Inception (2010) RPF
Genre: Blindfolds, F/M, M/M, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-02
Updated: 2010-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Cillian appears to run frightened from the set of <i>Inception</i>, Joseph learns the real reason why Cillian keeps appearing with a bag over his head in all of Chris Nolan's movies: it's a game he and Christopher have been playing, for years, because Cillian enjoys the loss of control when he can't see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bag

**Author's Note:**

> Spawned by the following IM snippet:
> 
> 1:14:50 PM vtn: man, what IS that? with nolan putting cillian murphy's head in a bag  
> 1:15:01 PM vtn: is it sexual kink? even if it isn't, can we pretend it is?
> 
> The Cillian Murphy/OFC scene is a flashback used as background, and there is no M/M sex. This story ignores real life relationships of the actors.

"Well," says Joseph, scrubbing the back of his head with his hand, "That was kind of fucked up."  
  
What he means is, the part where they had to re-do the take, and when they pulled the sack from Cillian's head he looked extremely uncomfortable, his face (even under the makeup) a shade of red Joseph had never seen it turn before, his breath short, his hands clenched between his legs and a stark pale white against his crisp pressed pants. And then he bolted off like a spooked animal in the direction of the bathrooms.  
  
"Mhm," says Leo, who Joseph may as well have been talking to. "You've got to wonder." He doesn't seem like he's really wondering.  
  
"All right," Chris calls, "We'll take a short break, I think Cillian's gone to the toilet to freshen up, and be ready in ten." Joseph salutes him playfully and then walks off in the direction of the toilets, preparing himself for a very awkward conversation.   
  
At that point, he doesn't know the half of it.  
  
\---  
  
"Hey," Joseph says when Cillian emerges from the bathroom, "Are you all right?" Cillian looks much better now, his pupils having returned to their normal diameter and his hands to their usual color.  
  
"Oh yeah, I'm fine, just needed a piss," he says with a shrug of his shoulders.  
  
"Right, it's just, uh," and here comes the awkward part, "You know." He makes an approximation of a 'bag going over the head' gesture. Cillian still looks nonchalant, but a bit of color creeps into his cheeks. "I mean, I'm sure it's not one hundred percent necessary if it freaks you out."  
  
"It doesn't," says Cillian, and he looks away. "Did Christopher say when he wanted us back?"  
  
"Ten minutes," says Joseph. "Although it's probably more like eight now."  
  
"Right," says Cillian.   
  
"Now I'm not saying you're—"  
  
"Sit," says Cillian. He's pointing at some of the fold-out chairs that are scattered around the set. Joseph hasn't heard Cillian take such an authoritative tone before, and he obeys nervously but dutifully, pulling a pair of chairs together and taking one while Cillian sits beside him. "Right, so," says Cillian, "It's a bit of a private joke between Christopher and myself."  
  
"A private joke got you so you could hardly breathe."  
  
"If I were to explain it fully," Cillian says, his voice shaking just the tiniest bit, and his eyelids starting to flutter, "I don't think you'd be able to look at me the same way. 's enough to say, I don't have a problem with shooting the scene as it's written. So if that's all, then I'll be heading for crafts-services..."  
  
"I'm pretty open-minded," says Joseph, not knowing what to expect, curiosity taking a hold of him. And then Cillian's eyes—with that almost-scary blue—roll to the side, looking over at Joseph, with a hint of something that looks a little like mischief. The corner of his mouth turns up.   
  
"Open-minded's one thing," says Cillian. "Can you keep a secret?"  
  
\---  
  
Her name was Joanna, beautiful Joanna with deep brown hair that went into corkscrew curls when it was wet, Joanna with freckles over her nose that Cillian would try to count when they were lying on the bed. Twenty-six, no, twenty-seven.  
  
"You're always distracted," she told him.  
  
"I can't help it," he stammered. "You're so—so beautiful. I can't decide what to look at."  
  
She laughed and she said maybe if he could just  _focus_ , and he threw his hands up in confusion, and she rummaged around in his wardrobe (her breasts hanging down between her arms arms dusted with fine soft hair hair spilling down her white back like treacle back bent in a graceful C) and she smiled (ruby red lips) and held up one of his ties (small hands, nails painted pink) and he looked at her uncertainly and she said "You don't have to look". Climbed back onto the bed (comforter settling around her skin). Wrapped the silk around his eyes.  
  
"Is that too tight?" she asked.  
  
"Fine," Cillian gasped, "It's fine, it's—good." Her hands were sliding up his sides and he fumbled until he found the curve of her hips and he could  _feel_  every fucking  _follicle_  of her hair with his fingertips—immersed in a world of sensation—  
  
\---  
  
"And after that it became," Cillian says, his voice low, "Sort of...a thing."  
  
\---  
  
On the set of  _Batman Begins_ , Cillian got an erection.  
  
It wasn't even that he was thinking about Joanna, with his head covered—he wasn't thinking about her until after his dick was already straining in his trousers, his mind racing to understand where this sudden need was coming from and he remembered her and how she used to blindfold him. It wasn't her doing this to him. It was...control. His control, taken away. The feeling of floating isolated, unaware, in the center of the universe, while his mind groped fruitlessly to understand what was happening around him. Everything a blur of voices, and him now vulnerable, helpless, blind.   
  
And that... turned him on?  
  
Christopher took him aside afterward.  
  
"Listen, mate," he said gently to Cillian, his tongue touching the corner of his mouth as he started about three drafts of his next sentence in his head and scrapped them. "If you're not comfortable with that—"  
  
\---  
  
Joseph splutters.  
  
"You mean I just said the exact same—"  
  
Cillian holds up a finger, like he's afraid he'll run out of steam if Joseph keeps interrupting and doesn't let him finish the story. Joseph shakes his head and goes quiet.  
  
\---  
  
"If you're not comfortable with that," Christopher said, "I can change something," He narrowed his eyes, his vision like a laser pointed in Cillian's face. "Or," he said, "You can...keep...doing it?" There was doubt on his face, but something else too. Curiosity?  
  
Cillian couldn't look him in the face then.   
  
"Shoot just my face whenever you can," he mumbled. "It'll be fine."  
  
"I can't shoot your face if there's a bag covering it."  
  
"You know what I mean."  
  
\---  
  
So that was how it was, Cillian hard and squirming but his shoulders square, the camera pointed in his face, and Christopher's gaze—unseen, but always there; there when the bag came off and Cillian blinked in the light—Christopher's gaze on Cillian's groin, almost feeling up Cillian's cock with the force of his vision.   
  
And when he came back, for  _Dark Knight_ : that same mixture of anticipation and humiliation. And not knowing anymore which one of those, exactly, was turning him on the most.  
  
Sometimes he'd get his pants wet, his dick sliding against the fabric when he moved, making his condition worsen every time he shifted his weight, until Christopher would call a break. Cillian would wait until he did, enjoying the agony of being achingly hard with no one to relieve him and Christopher's eyes always on him, always watching Cillian's cock shift in his trousers. It kept Cillian on his guard. It was one of those things that he always used to worry about—the thought that millions of people would be able to see him in some compromising position or intimate moment.  
  
He worried, until he became a slut for it. Until all he wanted was to know that all those millions of pairs of eyes, as they watched him in that burlap mask, were unknowingly seeing him when he was so aroused it was painful. Until it was fantasy fuel for him to touch himself to on their breaks, hand furiously jerking his dick while he imagined—  
  
\---  
  
"What, that Chris was watching you?"  
  
Cillian's eyes look into Joseph's, oddly dark beneath that blinding blue.   
  
"Sure," he says. He pauses for a bit, his eyes darting—Joseph is paying attention now—to Joseph's wrists, then to his shirt collar, and then back to his face. "And so you understand, when he asks me to do it again, in this scene... To the audience, it's a cute inside reference. So they can wink and nod to each other. But for me and Christopher, it's..."  
  
"It's just part of your game," says Joseph.  
  
"That isn't the right..." Cillian shrugs. "Anyway, you can see I wasn't having a panic attack or anything."  
  
"Right." Joseph starts to get up from his chair. Then he sits back down, and pats Cillian on the knee. "So if you catch me staring, feel free to think glare-y thoughts at me or smack me in the face, whatever. Anyway, see ya on set." He stands up and heads back to the bathroom. Enters a stall. Takes off his pants. Sits down.   
  
Puts a hand over his eyes.


End file.
